


The Nohrian Army Marches On Us

by Manya_Kami



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Body Horror, Bugs, Character Study, Conquest Route, Drabble, Gen, Insanity, M!Kamui/Corrin, Sexual Metaphors, Some OOC-ness, Some pretty fucked up Kamu/Taku if you squint, Some serious angst, but you'll have to squint pretty hard, takumi-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 11:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14519646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manya_Kami/pseuds/Manya_Kami
Summary: A psycho-sexual character study of Takumi, pre Chapter 23.





	The Nohrian Army Marches On Us

**Author's Note:**

> Huhhh quick disclaimers:  
> \- I like Takumi. I'm a fan, even, believe it or not.  
> \- This contains some uhhh headcanons? so if it doesn't make sense that's why.  
> \- It's not poetic, but it's pretty pretentiously written, I'd say.

It’s dark and moist and tense within the room of the Second Hoshidan Prince. It’s where Takumi’s been tucked away since his last failure to his wicked brother. He hasn’t wished himself out.

It’s so strange here, even for Takumi. He feels displaced, like something is wearing his bones and the only room left for him is between the joints, so he’d slid between the muscle there. The are hands controlling his head, arms. They’re long. They bend and twist and tie and tangle in his hair.

His hatred and anger are palpable here, seeped from his weak body and into the air instead. It’s misty and purple and so, so _thick_. It’s almost too thick. But it releases some of the tension, so Takumi lets it all excrete as he lays on his side and thinks about the damned hand that Kamui’s felt him this time.

His skin is crawling. If he looks close enough, he can see them. There are bugs, trapped within the dermis and suckling from his inner fluids. They’re from Nohr, no doubt. They’re drinking him dry so that they can return with full bellies in giant swarms. Kamui will have them irradiated so that they won’t destroy the crop that year, and then there’ll be _utterly nothing left of Takumi._

The thought brings a wild smile to his face, manic and mad. Takumi feels giddy with the thought of his brother, rejuvenated with raw, primal excitement. It gnaws at his brain. They’re almost here. They’re almost _here_.

“I _hate_ you,” He whispers to no one, to himself perhaps, but then his mind says that it’s directed at Kamui. The words sear the sticky flesh of his throat. Bugs are crawling between his teeth and his tongue curls long and languid with each consonant. He is livid and alive. His skin is a putrid, rotting purple.

Takumi reaches out one hand, squashes a bug and smears its guts across the tatami mat and thinks of his family, totally and irrevocably fucked beyond recognition. His other hand dips into the waistband on his hakama and he thinks of the Hoshidan soldiers he’d seen, dead by his brother’s doing. He plays with himself in secret there, and thinks of the split-open heads and smattered entrails and oozing arrow wounds poisoned with shit.

It’s euphoric. The hands in his head are unraveling, unwinding. He’s bleeding purple between his lips. The hand inside his legs is working faster and the other is picking bugs out from beneath the tanned skin of his exposed chest. It’s almost over. They’re almost here.

Takumi can’t handle himself. This is shameful. This is dishonorable. It’s gushing from him, painting the walls in a wretched mosaic. He can’t remember what true hatred feels like, but he’s sure this isn’t it.

He’s on the floor now, dry heaving the humidity. His vision swims violet. He can taste the Nohrians in the air, and it makes his tongue twist into ugly shapes. He wishes that Kamui would see him, see what he’s done to him. What an irrepairable mess everything turned out to be.

The door opens behind Takumi, and the indigo haze that’d filled the room prior flushes out like someone’s pulled a plug.

“Lord Takumi,” It’s Oboro. She sounds so sad, and Takumi almost wishes that someone would comfort her. “We’d best get going. Your army awaits.”

Slowly, like a cicada twisting itself free of its shell, Takumi peels himself off of the floor. That blissful euphoria is gone. There are hands in his brain, grabbing and pulling at things that shouldn’t be grabbed and pulled at. It _hurts_.

“Oboro.” He responds, and it’s acid, it’s nothing his voice has ever sounded like before, and it’s not his own will to speak to his retainer in such a way. He crooks his neck so that he can see her, and when he articulates it’s so damn hard to keep that long tongue in his mouth.

He wants to say something. _What did you see?!_ out of embarrassment, or, _won’t you ever learn to knock?_ He wants to say _Please. Help me. I’m going out of my mind._

But Takumi says none of these things. He stands fully nude in front of Oboro and tells her in that voice that has poisoned his own tongue, “Let’s. Prince _Corrin's_ army marches on us.”

She nods, and leaves quickly, and Takumi hates the shame that slips out of his pores, because the last of his dignity is dissipated. But that doesn’t matter. Not anymore. None of it matters now.

Takumi dresses quickly and grabs his beloved Yumi on his way out. It’s time to protect his capital.

 

 


End file.
